


I Think You're My Best Friend

by nowhere_blake



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Suicide mention, but honestly not very much, takes place during hiatus, there is a tiny bit of Peterick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:11:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowhere_blake/pseuds/nowhere_blake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ooh, okay, so cliché title, I know, but. Patrick mentioned in an interview that after writing his 'We Liked You Better Fat' blog post (which still makes me want to cry for hours whenever I re-read it) Pete called him and that was sort of the beginning of their conversation about the return of Fall Out Boy and well, that inspired me to write this little thing.</p><p>Or... The one where Patrick stops showering, Pete doesn't stop calling and after a bit of emotion-heavy and typical PeteandPatrick friendship stuff everything turns out to be kind of okay. Because, you know, <i>sometimes before it gets better, the darkness gets bigger</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think You're My Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty sure, the 'We Liked You Better Fat' post is still online _somewhere_ , but I have it if anyone's curious - just message me [here](http://www.justrainythings.tumblr.com/ask) :)

It took him 13 missed calls from Pete to even consider picking up his phone and a further 3 to oppress his embarrassment enough to _actually_ do so. And he still wasn't entirely convinced that it was a good idea. Mainly because he absolutely didn't want to talk to Pete. Or anyone else for that matter.

He wanted to disappear into his room; sleep and feel miserable, while thinking disturbingly self-loathing things about himself and just life in general. And that's exactly what he did for the first couple of days – he closed all the curtains, he didn't get out of bed, didn't listen to music at all and barely ate anything that Elisa put in front of him with her 'I'm really worried, but will let you figure it out by yourself' smile. And if he could have, he definitely would have continued this lifestyle for god knows how long. But then Pete started calling him.

Patrick knew that if their situations were reversed, he wouldn't have been as patient as Pete proved to be. Because the last time Pete didn't pick up he ended up in a fucking hospital and yeah, okay, Patrick prided himself on developing a sort of trust towards Pete that allowed him not to think of Best Buy every time Pete felt a bit down, but still. 5 unanswered calls would have meant worriedly calling Pete's mom and 10 would have equalled banging on his door like some sort of maniac.

But Pete wasn't Patrick. He was a bit more patient than him (or maybe just knew him well enough to wait it out) and he didn't show up at his door, a button away from dialling 911, demanding answers. Instead he just kept calling. And Patrick had to admit, it'd actually worked, because he felt so ridiculously guilty when his phone started ringing the seventeenth time that he took a deep breath and finally picked up.

'I'm fine,' was the first thing he said, rolling his eyes. His voice sounded even creakier than he expected, after days of not talking.

'Well, hello to you too, Patrick,' Pete said in a suspiciously cheerful voice that had an unmistakably sarcastic undertone. There was some music in the background and laughter as well; it sounded like Pete was in a restaurant. 'Wait a sec, okay? And don't you dare hang up on me.'

Patrick sighed, but didn't hang up and patiently waited until the loud background noises coming from the phone gradually faded away. 'Define fine,' Pete said then and his voice echoed a bit. Patrick was almost sure, he was in a toilet.

'We can talk later if you're busy,' said Patrick, feeling as miserable as humanly possible. 'I just wanted to let you know that I'm fine, so you can stop calling now.'

Pete let out a humourless chuckle on the other end. 'Yeah, no, not happening,' Pete didn't clarify what was not happening; him stopping with the phone-bullying, or them rescheduling the talking, but Patrick thought it was a safe bet that it was both. 'By the way, I'm not busy. I just didn't expect you to pick up,' he added simply.

Patrick sighed and felt even more of an asshole. 'I'm sorry,' he mumbled guiltily.

'Hey, no, that's not why I said it, Patrick,' Pete said cautiously. 'So. How are you?'

Patrick rolled his eyes again, 'I said I was fine, Pete.'

'Yes and I asked you to define fine.' Pete didn't seem to be in the mood to take any of Patrick's bullshit. Being a father taught Pete a lot of patience, which meant that his life-mission to annoy Patrick to death gained another vicious tool.

'It's...' Patrick was stalling. He had no idea how he felt. He was definitely angry when he was writing the blog post, but then he soon became depressed in a 'never want to do anything any more' kind of way and locked himself into the bedroom and hadn't thought about it ever since. Hadn't dared thinking about it, to be honest. 'I don't really know,' he said finally, shrugging a little.

Pete wasn't the type to give up though, 'Did something happen or was it just kind of building up over the years and all the bullshit you kept inside and weren't willing to talk about came out all the once?' he enquired, which was just… Fuck. Not something, Patrick fancied thinking about.

'Jesus, Pete, I don't _do_ that, I'm not _you_ ,' he snapped at Pete, regretting his remark as soon as he said it.

'First of all, _ouch_. I'm working on it, okay?' Pete said, but his tone was light. Patrick let out a deep, relived sigh. 'And it's totally not my fault that my brain is faulty,' Pete added, still not too serious, voice mockingly sulky. 'And also, are you sure about that? I mean, depressed-angry blog posts, man? That's classic 2005 Pete Wentz.'

'I'm sorry, man, I shouldn't have said that.'

Pete let out a non-committal kind of grunt. 'It's fine, dude, whatever.' Patrick could almost see him make an impatient little hand-gesture, meaning _let's move on_ , while leaning leisurely onto the cold-white wall of some extravagant LA restaurant toilet, ' _So_?'

Patrick shook his head. _So_. So what? A frustrated-sounding 'I don't know, Pete, I was angry,' was the best he could come up with.

'Yeah, Patrick, I don't think so,' Pete said, voice still reasonably measured. 'There was like proper grammar involved.'

Patrick frowned. 'What does that have to do with anything? Not everyone's allergic to the shift key, you know.'

Patrick could hear Pete sigh, but he let him get away with his vicious little comment. Again. 'What I mean is,' Pete started explaining, his calm voice reminding Patrick yet again, that he was dealing with a father of a 4-year-old, 'That you didn't just write something, mad as hell and then posted it recklessly. You proofread that thing and still thought it was a good idea to post it.'

Hating Pete when he was right came to Patrick like second-nature, but there was no denying it this time. 'Shit, I know.'

'So, what's up?' Pete asked him, sounding rather pleased with himself.

'It just got... Too much. People hate what I do, Pete,' said Patrick, detesting how whiny he sounded. Why did he let it all get to him so easily? 'They not just don't like it, you know, they actually _hate_ it.'

'Yeah, so?' asked Pete easily, like it was all stupid, like it was _nothing_ , making Patrick feel like a ridiculous, babbling teenager.

'I can't... I- I just put everything into this record, you know,' he tried to explain with a slightly desperate undertone, wanting to make Pete understand.

'I know,' Pete said, just as easily as before. Because, of course, he understood. Pete always did. Well, when he bothered to make an effort anyway. 'There are people out there who do like it, you know.'

Patrick was tempted to ask if Pete was one of them, but he didn't feel like talking about music at the moment, so what he said instead was, 'Yeah, I know.'

'You're being greedy,' came Pete's reply.

'Excuse me?'

'You heard me.'

'Well, _fuck_ _you_ , Pete.'

'I know you'd love to,' Pete said casually and Patrick couldn't help but blush. Even after so many years... It was ridiculous. Pete thankfully moved on quite quickly though. 'But that wasn't it, right? That wasn't why you got angry,' he said then, voice serious again and Patrick hated him for it. He hated that Pete knew him this well.

'No,' he said, but it came out more like an angry grunt. He threw himself back onto his soft pillows, while fixing the ceiling with his stare, trying to ignore the burn in his eyes. He so wasn't gonna cry. _Not now._

'It doesn't matter what people think, okay?' Pete told him passionately. 'Music, yeah, you put it out there and sometimes you get hurt, but yourself, your body? That's none of their business, Patrick.'

'I know, it's just…' it wasn't like Patrick didn't know all this. It wasn't like he wasn't used to people talking about his weight, but... still. He couldn't help it. It got to him every damn time. 'You know what they say?' he muttered, embarrassed to even bring it up, 'That they want Fatrick back...'

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line and Patrick was expecting Pete to laugh, because, frankly, the whole thing was just incredibly ridiculous. But Pete didn't laugh. He sounded angry. Very angry. 'Well, _fuck_ them. They want FOB back and a Patrick that they associate with it. It's not like they want you to be unhealthy or whatever. And you didn't do this for them, you did it for yourself. And as long as it makes you happy and healthy, nothing else matters. So _fuck_ them.'

There was this tingling, warm feeling low in Patrick's stomach when he thought about how upset Pete got about people hurting him and all he could think was, _not fucking again_. Getting unhealthily attached to Pete was not his favourite thing in the world, and it scared him shitless how co-dependent they could get sometimes. Although, to be fair, the whole stomach thing could have been just because he hadn't eaten anything in the last couple of days, so who knows. Patrick sighed. 'Fuck them…' he repeated Pete's words wonderingly. 'Yeah, it's easy for you to say.'

'No, Patrick, honestly, this is nothing we haven't dealt with before,' Pete continued urgently, reminding Patrick of a TV salesman trying to sell something crappy at 3 am. 'The kids are afraid of change and if we're changing and growing up, that means they are too and no one in their right mind wants to grow up.'

Patrick chuckled a bit. 'I wanted to grow up _so badly_ in high school…'

'Well, you were an idiot,' Pete retorted, overly fond and loving undertone right in place.

'Er, your plan to cheer me up, Pete? Not going very well.'

Pete laughed, long and low, and Patrick hated that he couldn't see him at that moment, because, _fuck_ , he missed that laugh so much. 'Who said my plan was to cheer you up? My plan is to take advantage of your vulnerable emotional state and guilt you into hanging out with me.'

'Nice,' Patrick said, raising an eyebrow, a faint smile developing on his face. 'You could have just asked,' he added, voice turning sincere.

'But this is much more fun,' Pete claimed. 'Besides, it's totally working.'

Patrick was properly smiling now. 'Aren't you in the studio or something?'

There was a brief pause, then Pete said, carefully nonchalant, 'No, not really doing anything.'

'Oh.' Guilt started creeping up Patrick's spine – cold and vicious and mortifying. He was so full of himself, so busy doing his own things, he didn't even think about Pete any more. He had no idea what he was doing, or if he was okay… A couple of phone calls a month, some generic emails and rushed coffee-dates once in a while… What was Patrick thinking, abandoning Pete like that?

But Pete's voice sounded honest and open. 'No, it's not like, bad or anything, I mean I have the little dude to keep me busy and stuff,' Pete added and Patrick could hear him smiling.

'So the band…' he enquired carefully, afraid of what he would hear.

'So the band.' Pete repeated glumly, but he sounded reasonably disappointed instead of suicidal. 'Yeah, no, it's... I never really, you know, like committed to it that way. It was just something, I did. It was fun, but I'm not gonna miss it,' he said, then added tentatively, 'I miss _you_ guys though.'

Oh, no. Shit. Where did this come from? 'Pete…' Patrick said slowly, trying to sound warning, but apologetic at the same time. He wasn't sure, he succeeded.

'No, wait, I'm not... I swear, I didn't plan bringing this up, okay? I'm just saying.'

Patrick stayed silent. He didn't think about the band as much any more and he hated the idea of going back to being in Fall Out Boy after a failed solo project. It just wasn't the right time… He wanted to build the comeback of the band on new music, not on the awful combination of Pete being bored out of his mind, Joe bullied into something he didn't actually want and Andy's silent, but opinionated stares.

'I miss you,' Pete continued and if Patrick was expecting clingy or desperate, well, he was wrong. Pete sounded just sort of... sad. 'And I miss working with you. It's not fucking easy. Like the music was just always there and I didn't have to like worry about it at all, and I didn't even realise how fucking easy it was for me, you know what I mean?'

Patrick laughed, because he knew exactly what Pete meant. 'Yeah, I know,' he said, careful about keeping his voice casual, 'Management and shit? It's difficult. Actually, I have a lot of respect for you for putting up with all that for that long. I had no idea, dude.'

'You see, it could actually work,' Pete said, with growing enthusiasm, 'I mean, we fucking grew up, Pat.'

Patrick rolled his eyes, 'And you're still trying to force nicknames on me.'

'Well, you know what they say, baby, seasons change, but people don't.'

'Oh wow,' Patrick laughed, shaking his head. ' _Really_ , Pete?'

As his laughter died down, Patrick could hear Pete let out a deep breath on the other end, which meant things were going to get pretty serious now, and indeed, Pete's next question – despite his light tone – was more than just a coy lyrics quote, 'So what do you say, are you getting your ass out of bed now?'

Patrick sighed, then – trying to avoid actually answering the question – he asked, 'How do you even know, I'm in bed?'

'I know everything,' came Pete's reply; sharp and his tone still joking. 'And I know you,' he added softly, slightly more serious.

'Bullshit,' Patrick said immediately, partly to annoy Pete, partly because… Yes, it was true, Pete knew him, knew him very well, probably better than anyone, maybe even better than Elisa, but… Shit. 'Oh god, did you call Elisa??'

'No, actually, she's the one who called _me_ ,' Pete told him simply, his voice calm and measured.

'Saying what?!'

'That I shouldn't be worried,' Pete informed him, his sentence sounding like a question more than anything.

'So naturally, you started worrying.' Patrick concluded. He thought, that sort of made sense, no matter how embarrassing the fact that his wife felt like she had to call his best friend, because this whole self-pity stunt he was pulling. Why couldn't people just believe that he was okay? He just wanted to be alone. In a dark room. And not eat, shower or sleep for a bit, while hating the world. He was _totally_ fine.

'Of course, I fucking worry when you pull a fucking Kurt Cobain on me,' Pete told him and now he sounded angry, maybe even... nervous? Definitely no trace of his humorous tone from earlier.

'It wasn't directed at you,' Patrick informed him, defensively. 'And I wasn't going to kill myself,' he added sulkily, although he did sense that there was probably something wrong if he had to convince his best friend of that.

'You quit music, Patrick. You quit fucking _music_ ,' Pete retorted, articulating every single word. 'Fucking tell me, that's not worrying.'

'I didn't quit- Jesus, do people actually think I quit music? I'm not...' Patrick was baffled. These demons were inside his head and didn't affect anyone else beside him, so why did all these people care so much? Why make such a big deal out of it? The exact opposite happened of what he wanted to achieve. He just wanted some peace for himself, he just wanted people to shut up and realise that he was an actual person, with feelings and that they weren't being fair on him and... 'It's just, I'm taking a break, okay? It's just too much and I need a breather,' he said finally, trying to give Pete a satisfactory explanation.

'That's what we said about FOB,' Pete noted sharply.

'And it's still true,' Patrick nodded. 'We never broke up.'

Pete let out frustrated little laugh full of sarcasm, then said, 'Just because we never had a conversation about it, it doesn't mean it's still-'

'We are not broken up, Pete,' Patrick stated matter of factly, not liking the way how it sounded like a relationship thing, because... Well, things were complicated enough, thanks very much.

'It sure seems like it from where I'm standing, dude.'

Patrick sighed, feeling defeated, because he couldn't really deny it that he too was feeling like it was actually a break up and not just taking some time off. It was weird, because they never intended to finish it like this (or finish it at all) and Patrick wondered how many other bands broke up like this; not even realising it. 'What do you want me to do here, Pete?' he asked softly.

Pete's voice sounded unsure and very self-conscious as he started saying, 'I have... I have some lyrics, if you-'

' _Pete_.'

Patrick so wasn't going to let Pete Wentz emotionally manipulate him into this. Still, he had a feeling that he'd already lost this fight.

'Just look at it, okay?' Pete asked pleadingly, 'You don't have to do anything, just look at it. Even if it's not for the band, I still could use your help.'

Patrick ran a hand through his greasy hair, that he should have washed like five days ago, thinking what that would mean for him and potentially for the band. Could this be the beginning of something great or did it just mean that he was shit at everything else, apart from being in Fall Out Boy? he wondered darkly.

'Okay,' he finally said really glumly, hoping Pete would appreciate the effort he put into sounding a lot more enthusiastic than he actually was. 'Do you actually have something or are you gonna like go now and quickly try to come up with some shit?' he asked.

'I always have something, Patrick,' Pete remarked softly, but there was a hint of subtle victory in his voice and Patrick knew, he was smiling.

'True,' he nodded, feeling partly angry because of being conned, partly the luckiest ever for having Pete in his life.

There was a moment of silence before Patrick decided to lose the battle as gracefully as he could.

'You could… Show it to me in person, if you want,' he said, voice hesitant a bit.

'Does that mean you're willing to get your ass out of bed?' Pete asked him, voice lively and enthusiastic again.

Patrick let out a little laugh. 'I might consider it, yeah.'

'If it helps, I promise, I won't call you Fatrick.'

'Dude!' Patrick groaned, but to his surprise, it actually didn't sting as much as he expected it to.

'Too soon?' asked Pete, obviously grinning. 'Whatever. I might be a grown-up, but still inappropriate as fuck.'

Patrick couldn't help but crack a smile at that, 'I hate you.'

'Oh, you love me, Patrick.'

'Same thing,' Patrick replied, rolling his eyes. He was just realising how much he'd actually missed Pete.

'Can I ask you something?' he heard from the other end, Pete's voice getting more solemn once again.

'Depends on,' he said cautiously, because he might have been out of touch with his Pete Wentz handling skills, but he wasn't a complete idiot.

'I can't explain what it is without asking the question I wanna ask,' Pete said in a sing-song voice, which made Patrick suspect the absolute worst and he was actually tempted to ask Pete if he'd killed someone.

'Jesus, Pete, just-'

'Why do you care more about what some anonymous shitface internet bullies think than about what I think?' asked Pete in full on self-conscious and demanding best friend mode and... well, shit. It wasn't what Patrick was expecting. At all.

'I care about what you think more than anyth-' he tried to reassure Pete defensively, but got interrupted again.

'Of course you do,' Pete said, sounding so confident in that statement, that Patrick wondered (and came to the conclusion) that he got played again. 'That's why you're gonna stop drowning in self-pity and do something with my shitty lyrics.'

Well, then. Patrick thought about how he already felt better and that this was either a bit of Pete Wentz magic or a pretty strong dose of the good old PeteandPatrick codependency. Either way... 'Thank you,' he said in a sincere voice and for some reason he had tears in his eyes. He blinked them away quickly.

'You're an idiot,' Pete said to him fondly.

'For thanking you?' Patrick asked, raising an eyebrow, still fighting his tears.

'For thinking shit about yourself in the first place,' Pete said in a way that made Patrick feel warm and loved. 'And for thanking me. The world is an awful place, Patrick and just because you're this angel-faced innocent cupcake, it's still awful and people can still hurt you.'

Patrick winced at that, because he hated it when Pete went all 'itsby-bitsy cutie little Patrick' on him. It was so patronising. 'Don't treat me like I'm a five year old.'

'Quit acting like it,' came the reply and yeah, okay, that was kind of justified.

'Will try,' Patrick nodded.

'I guess that's good enough for now,' Pete said, with the promise of many more of these calls in his voice. 'See you soon?'

'Yeah, definitely,' Patrick said and he found that he actually meant it, 'See you soon, Pete.'

 


End file.
